I Came, I Saw, I Left
by Ragingceliac
Summary: After nearly a year of hardship in the Capital, the Lone Wanderer is drawn back to the place that threw him to the radioactive wolves in the first place: Vault 101. But the Capital has changed the Wanderer, and he is not who he was when he left. Will he be able to work through the survival skills he'd developed? Or will the Wasteland's brutality shine through?
1. Chapter 1

**Adam looked** at the battered door that lead to the cave that lead to Vault 101 itself. It was just as weather-beaten as when he first opened it; the first layer of thatched wood panels had rotted away, but a second remained. He looked at it for a few moments, then shot a glance toward the outline of Megaton's outer wall. Something had festered in his stomach on the walk there. Something he hadn't felt in months.

Apprehension.

Some part of him was aware that going back to Vault 101 was playing with a fire that could easily burn him. Putting his vault 101 jumpsuit back on had sent a flood of memories to his mind, most of which were bittersweet; remembering the day that he'd taken the GOAT had marked the end of his formal education, but also ushered in three years of working monotonously in the vault's engineering department. Leaving had awoken him to all the aspects in his life that he'd knew were missing but also accepted weren't going to happen. Then James had blasted all those notions away by leaving the Vault and throwing his son's life into flux. The near half-year of searching eventually lead to the stitches that ran down the right side of his face.

Adam shook his head, squashing any memories of James before they could cause him any more grief. He threw his hood over his head, adjusted the the cord that was holding his hunting rifle in place on his back, and pushed the wooden door open. He activated the flashlight function of his pip-boy and managed a single step forward before his movements halted.

His interactions with Clover there two days earlier washed over him like a tidal wave. He remembered how spiteful her eyes were, how he'd flinched at the tone she'd used. He bit his lower lip for a moment, then stopped himself from doing so. He glared at the massive cog, approached the opening console, which a lever affixed to a piece of yellow-coloured rectangular steel, which itself was held up by four metal poles that supported the steel's four corners. It looked spindly and low-budget, and Adam had visited enough vaults to know that Vault-tech's "Quality items" were just poorly made knock-offs of other, more durable designs. He shook his head in disgust, and some part of him questioned how he was going to break it to Amata that her life had been one massive experiment for a government that didn't exist before.

He plugged his pip-boy into the port attached to the console, looking down at the screen.

 **Vault-tech™ Vault-opening Porgram: active.**

 **Welcome, Adam Howard. You have accessed Vault 101's opening console. Would you like to begin entering this Vault's password?**

Adam pressed the 'Yes' option and a keyboard replaced the beginning screen. He typed 'Amata' in with a slight, near-imperceptible shaking in his hand.

 **Password entered: correct. The opening lever may now be pulled to open Vault 101's door. We hope your stay in Vault 101 is satisfactory. Any complaints or difficulties you might have should be sent to Vault 101's current overseer. Thank you for using Vault-tech™.**

Adam felt a ripple of sardonic bitterness as he unplugged his pip-boy. Lies. That's what the vault's were. They were all just lies. Was James aware of what Vault 101 was? When he broke into the overseer's terminal did he feel the same things he had? How did he feel knowing that his son was living a lie? Angry? Guilty? Adam shook his head. There wasn't any point in asking those questions: James was dead.

Wondering would only remind him of that.

Taking in a deep breath, Adam pulled the lever down. There was a screeching that would have made him cringe a few months prior as metal scraped against metal. He heard hissing, and steeled himself. He centered himself to the Vault's cog and watched as it slid past. He slid his breathing mask over his face. He lowered his goggles to his eyes. Adjusting the strap holding his hunting rifle one final time, Adam followed the rest of the cog's movements until it slid out of sight. He stepped through the threshold, movements slightly stiff.

His boots made contact with the cold steel of Vault 101's entrance, and he scanned the room. Immediately his nose scrunched up. He heard the sounds of radroaches. Something in his stomach dropped a bit.

He ran a hand along the railing of the small staircase he'd climbed down a year before. It was cold. Rusting had chipped away at it's yellow coat of paint. The radroach sounds were closer now. Adam reached the top and scanned the room again. He surveyed everything to his right, seeing the door that lead to the overseer's tunnel. He could end it all right there if he could crack the door. Put a bullet in Alphonse's head. No more tyrant.

He heard clicking coming from that direction. Adam's head perked up. With a well-developed caution, the Wanderer walked over to the door. As he got closer, the all-too-familiar smell of a decaying body reached his nostrils. A radroach must have heard his footsteps, as it scampered out, looked up, and froze. Adam's eyes narrowed, and it flinched back slightly. It did like its ancestors had done, and simply stood still. It watched as Adam bent over and slid a combat knife out of his boot. It flinched back fully this time, and was halfway to the door when a boot smashed into its back and head.

Adam kicked the radroach off his shoe as he entered the compartment that the door lead to. He saw a boot, and his eyebrows arched. He got fully into the long, rectangular compartment and found the body of Steve Armstrong. His eyes were missing, and there were several small tears in his throat. A lead pipe lay to Adam's left, and the wanderer sighed heavily. Steve had worked with him during his three-year tenure in Vault 101's engineering department, and while the two had never really known each other before that, had developed a friendship in and out of the workplace. Adam should have felt sorrow for this - but he didn't.

Shaking his head and suppressing the grief and exasperation that threatened his composure, the young man turned away from Steve's body.

His nails lightly dug into his palm as he approached the public door to the Vault 101 entrance. He pushed it and to his surprise it began to open. His eyes widened, and on instinct Adam ducked. A bullet soared over his head, barely missing him, and Adam dove to the left. Another shot soared through the doorway, and Adam drew his 10mm from the brahmin-hide holster he had hanging from his hip. Frowning at how he'd nearly been shot, and yet satisfied somewhat that his gut had been right. Alphonse was going to have to try harder than that to kill him. He leaned out slightly, exposing part of his hood, and jerked it back when a bullet went just to the right of it. He jerked himself back and unclipped a flashbang from his belt. He brought them specifically for this. Dismembering a vault security officer with a military-grade explosive probably wouldn't gain him any favors among a vault populace that likely despised him enough as is.

Adam pulled the pin of the flashbang and tossed it into the room the public door lead to. He heard the telltale bang and swearing and rushed inside. He saw the security gaurd inside, and moved like a wraith toward them. They looked up and raised their pistol at Adam, but the Wanderer grabbed their wrist and twisted. They winced, groaned slightly, and dropped their gun. It clattered to the ground, and the security guard began to raise their fist to clock Adam's jaw, only to get the butt of a 10mm pistol to the face for their troubles. Their head flew back, and the guard swore.

Their helmet fell off their head, and Adam froze.

"Officer Gomez?"

The guard blinked at the familiarity of Adam's voice.

"Adam?" they asked, bewildered. Adam nodded slowly, releasing his grip on Gomez's wrist. He stepped back from the older man, his own 10mm held in an iron grip at his side. Gomez blinked several times.

"Um… kid? Would you mind taking that mask and those goggles off? For identification purposes?" he said, uncertainty dripping from his words. Adam didn't respond verbally, and slowly slid his breathing mask off his face, letting it lazily hang off his neck. He raised his goggles, but Gomez's eyes had drifted to the stitches. Adam shot the older man a curious look.

"It's me." he said. Gomez nodded silently.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, son," Adam felt a small amount of emotion at the word 'son'. "But where'd you get those?" Gomez didn't point to them, but Adam knew he was referring to his stitches.

"The Pitt." he replied simply, as if that settled the matter. Gomez opened his mouth

"Don't ask about it," Adam cut him off. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Again, Gomez silently nodded, deciding that something that made Adam, the by-the-books shy son of the Vault's resident doctor, be that short was something he didn't want to know about.

"...Right." Gomez responded, trying to read some emotion off Adam's face. "This little meet and greet is nice and all, but why'd you come back here? Alphonse wants your head on a silver platter-"

"Amata." Adam cut in. Gomez stopped, a small 'Oh' escaping him.

"I see. Well, if that's it, I have orders to stop you,." Gomez said. Adam cocked a brow. Gomez grimaced. "But, in the face of what your father has done for this vault in the past-" Adam raised both eyebrows now. "-I'm willing to forget this ever happened and let you walk out."

"No." Adam said. Gomez shook his head.

"Kid, whad'ya mean 'No'? You can't stay here!" Adam held up a hand.

"I don't plan on staying here," he said. "But Alphonse is a tyrant. I won't let that stand any longer." Gomez bit his lower lip, looked Adam up and down, and then sighed. The kid was in better shape than him, something the officer deduced came from his time outside the vault.

"Fine. Go ahead. Can't say I didn't warn you though." he said, slightly defeated. Adam, though, didn't leave immediately.

"Gomez?" the older man nodded. "Do you know where Amata is?" Gomez, again, sighed.

"Like father like son I suppose," he murmured. "She's with the rebels in your dad's clinic." Adam nodded and left Gomez, climbing the staircase that lead to the other levels of the Vault.

"Rebels?" he muttered, exasperated. "What've you gotten yourself into?" Adam shook his head. He climbed the rest of the staircase, until he reached the atrium. The hallway was long, and lit with bright, fluorescent lights and Adam remembered the rush and stress of sprinting past the guards who had been there the day he escaped. He saw the back of another security guard's ballistic vest and sighed. Cautiously, he snuck up behind them. They were standing with their back to him. Adam was about to wrap an arm around their neck before they spoke.

"Don't make me shoot, Freddie!" came a brittle, old voice. It took Adam a moment to realise that that was the security guard's voice. Freddie's eyes had widened though. He'd noticed Adam. Of course, he didn't know it was Adam - he thought the reaper had finally come for him.

"Behind you!" he shouted, and then turned on his heel and sprinted down a staircase that lead to the Vault's lower levels. Adam frowned behind his breathing mask. The security guard began turned to face him. The light of the hall made it impossible for Adam to make out their face. They froze when they got a good look at Adam, and were just beginning to raise his pistol when Adam moved forward in a blur and caught their wrist. He twisted.

The officer moaned and their knees bucked. Adam grimaced and shoved them onto the ground. He slammed the butt of his 10mm into their forehead and heard a crack that made him pause. He raised the visor of his helmet and his stomach dropped.

He'd just pistol-whipped Officer Taylor. Someone who was probably in his sixties. With a bit a of nervousness, he spoke.

"Officer Taylor?" he asked. A few moments of silence passed. Taylor's face was expressionless. Adam suppressed the small amount of panic he had and took Taylor's pulse. He put two fingers on a vein in Taylor's neck. He felt a small vibration. Adam felt some small amount of relief. A second passed. Another.

He felt a pulse.

 _Shit._

Taylor's pulse was irregular. A bad sign. Adam realised that the pouch he'd brought had only a fw stimpaks, some bandages, tweezers and disinfectant. Not exactly the supplies to stop something like internal bleeding. Adam frowned deeply. _You can't leave now. No-one would forgive you if he died._

Yet it wasn't as if he could just do nothing. He sighed heavily. He fought with himself for a few more moments, debating internally. What would his reputation in the vault matter if he was going to leave anyway? He didn't need the approval of anybody in the vault - besides Amata, of course. Wouldn't she understand?

The Wanderer kneeled for a few moments, taking a good look at Taylor; the man's face was heavily wrinkled, with sallow skin that clung to his cheek bones. He was thin, and looked as brittle as his voice sounded. Someone like that should never have been allowed on a security force. Adam took a deep breath.

He looked at Taylor again.

"Officer?" he asked again. No response from Taylor. The wanderer waited another few moments. Nothing. He sighed. Part of him said to shoot Taylor and put him out of his misery. Adam had a hunch he was going to die anyway. Being sixty and getting pistol-whipped by someone two generations your younger isn't a good combination. Still, though, Adam also realized that to save face he had to at least try to get Taylor proper medical attention. And who knew, maybe he could be saved?

Sighing heavily, Adam picked up Officer Taylor and carried the older man fireman style, eyes swiveling around his flanks the entire way, to the stairwell Freddie had fled down. If anything was going to lead him to the rebels, that was.

* * *

 **Hello. I am well aware that this has been done before - and probably by better authors than myself - but I decided to give it a shot. Not much more to say other than to clarify that this is the Adam from my last one-shot:** _ **The Right to Ask**_ **.**

 **Any reviews, follows, and favs would make my day. - Raging Celiac**


	2. Chapter 2

**Adam grunted** as he carefully made his way down the stairs, glancing behind him occasionally, but mostly trying to keep Taylor secure. The man had been through far more than he should have - though he had attacked first - and the Wanderer found that despite how frail he looked, Taylor was surprisingly hard the carry. Granted, Adam was carrying at least fifteen pounds worth of survival items as well.

Taylor still hadn't woken by the time he was a two corners away from his father's clinic. The Wanderer found that intensely worrying. He had hoped he'd hear something - a grunt, groan, anything - from the Officer, but he'd heard nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and his breathing - which had been getting more steadily labored - for the past five minutes. He hadn't encountered anybody else, either.

Tunnel snakes were always good runners, he thought. Butch had certainly been one after Adam cracked a few of his teeth before the GOAT, and his cronies had kept up pretty damn well. The Wanderer felt a small, vindictive grin tug at the edges of his mouth. It never crossed his face.

Adam turned a corner and saw the staircase that lead to his father's clinic. _It_ was _his clinic,_ the Wanderer mentally corrected cynically. He slowed his pace and laid Taylor softly against the wall just before the bottommost stair. Just as silently, Adam withdrew his 10mm from it's holster and checked the safety. It was off. Silencing the dissenting voices in his head that said to keep it that way, Adam turned the safety on, cringing slightly at how the _click!_ that came from the action echoed in the hall. _They already despise you. They won't accept your help if you shoot one of them._

Before he began up the stairs, Adam checked Taylor's pulse again. He felt a heartbeat and a few moments passed before he felt another one. _Good,_ Adam thought. There was some consistency in Taylor's inconsistency, at the very least. An oxymoron in a sense, Adam realised, but it was true.

Silently hoping that the officer wouldn't be dead by the time he got back, the Wanderer traversed the steps with practiced silence. His breathing was nigh undetectable, and he gripped his 10mm by the barrel. A frown crossed his pale features when he got to the top of the steps. There wasn't anyone guarding it, at least someone he could see. A stealthboy, maybe, but Adam had never found one of those in the vault, despite all of his searching. The door to Mr. Brotch's classroom was closed, and wrappers and papers littered the floor. The lights in the hall were very dim, with some being cracked. _And they'll think I turned savage._

Adam stood still for a few more moments, eyes narrowing behind his goggles. He took a step forward, and still he heard nothing. Then one of the lights flickered. The Wanderer saw a person-shaped shadow cross the door of Mr. Brotch's classroom. His eyes narrowed even more. He had to commend that they appeared to be waiting for him to come to them. _Or they could just be cowering._

Adam took another few steps forward, stopping in front of the door to his father's clinic. He glanced at the sole window it had; it was covered by a black sheet. So they weren't completely incompetent. He glanced to his left, towards Mr. Brotch's classroom, and saw nothing again. He looked back and opened the door.

Immediately afterward, he jumped back, and avoided a fist that was meant for his gut. He ducked under the next that went flying toward him and sent a sweeping kick to his attacker's shins. They fell back, and Adam rose, glancing left, seeing a broad-shouldered outline and sidestepping it as they threw a punch his way. He grabbed the offending arm and yanked it towards him. His second attacker gasped at the strength of the Wanderer's grip, and lost their balance, their momentum working against them. Adam saw another two outlines over their shoulder and shoved his second attacker forward with all the force he could muster. All three outlines met each other in a rather comic display that almost brought a smile to Adam's face. He activated the flashlight function of his pip-boy.

Then he grinned. He saw the figures of Butch Deloria, Wally Mack, and Freddie Gomez lying in a pile. He wasn't sure who had attacked him first, but he didn't care so much. He couldn't wait to see their faces. He was being vindictive, he knew, but they'd bullied him for sixteen years. Who wouldn't be?

He approached the three young men, taking in his father's clinic; it was messy, with mats laid out haphazardly around the room. A bloodied operating table was in the right corner, and Adam's grin faltered. He saw shadows moving, and shook his head. He turned on the lights.

The room was bathed in bright, fluorescent white light and Adam saw several people staring at him; among them he recognised Susie Mack, Wally's sister, Christine Kendall, and a Paul Hannon, whom Adam held less animosity after finding out that he was suffering from severe depression. He saw a few others in the crowd, most of whom he didn't recognize. He guessed they were from other sections of the vault. All of them, though, were staring at him with unabashed shock. Adam directed his gaze to the tangle of limbs that was the tunnel snakes and raised his 10mm at them. Every person in the room followed his movement in utter silence.

"Anybody makes a move, and they go." said Adam. The room was filled with tense silence as he lowered his breathing mask, letting it hang off his neck again. The people at the front of the crowd saw his stitches, and whispers ran rampant through the crowd. Adam ignored them.

He raised his goggles off his eyes with care and lowered his hood. The crowd gasped again. The Wanderer distinctly heard his name whispered several times before he opened his mouth to speak.

"Who in here knows where Amata Almodovar is?" he asked, and then added a small twitch of his 10mm for effect. More whispers in the crowd.

"Who are you?" demanded a female voice from behind him.

* * *

Adam spun on his heel, gun still trained one the pile that was Butch, Wally, and Freddie. His face remained expressionless as he looked Amata back. The glare she had sent his way immediately faded, and she'd been halfway through taking a step toward him before she stopped herself. Amata moved her leg back to it's original position, and peered around Adam, seeing the pile of groaning bodies and saw that Adam had a gun trained on them. Her eyes widened.

"Adam?" she asked uncertainly, "Could you… uh… not point a gun at them?" Amata's deep brown eyes looked upon her friend with shock now, and Adam returned it stoically. A few tense moments passed.

Then, very slowly, he slid his 10mm back into it's holster, though his hand was hovering near it. Amata straightened herself.

"Follow me," she said curtly, and gestured toward Adam. He followed his friend into Mr. Brotch's classroom, which was in disarray as well; the desks had pushed against the walls, and the only light inside was a small lamp on Mr. Brotch's desk whose beam was directed at the ceiling. Adam frowned as he entered.

He'd only just opened his mouth to comment when the door closed and a blur crashed into him. Adam's eyes went wide for a moment, and he steadied himself as Amata's arms formed a vice around his neck. She buried her head in the crook of Adam's neck, and the Wanderer felt her hair tickle his neck. Uncertainty washed over him.

Clover's hug two days earlier had been tight, yes, but this contained… something else. It felt somehow tighter than the former slave's - more desperate. Amata had an iron grip on his neck, and refused to loosen her hold at all for several moments until Adam let out something between a strangled gasp and cough. Amata stepped back after that, a light smattering of pink on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry it's just…" she took shuddery breath. "Before Steve Armstrong tried to sneak into the entrance, he repaired a radio. We found this station - Galaxy News, I'm pretty sure - and it said you were doing all these good things," Amata felt a watery smile tugging at her mouth that quickly fell. "And then it said that you'd disappeared."

Adam's expression barely changed, but beneath the surface he felt guilt bubbling upward. Then Amata had thrown herself at him again, wrapping her arms around him frame once more, even tighter this time.

"I was so worried. The host said that you'd lost your dad too…" Amata trailed off, looking up at Adam with tears brimming in her eyes. "I could only imagine how you felt." She choked out, another shake wracking her body. Adam cautiously slipped an arm around her shoulders, feeling awkward. Amata kept her arms wound around him for a few more moments, before she stepped back a few paces. Her cheeks showed her tear tracks that was complimented by a blush. The vault dweller took in a large gulp of air.

"Sorry, again." she said, voice shaky. "I just… needed to get that out of my system." Adam nodded expressionlessly, and Amata frowned, tucking a strand of hair that rebelliously stayed out of her bun behind her ear.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking up at him with worry beginning to write itself across her face. Adam shook his head, brown hair getting even more disarrayed.

"Nothing," he said tonelessly. Amata raised an eyebrow.

"it isn't 'Nothing'," she responded, crossing her arms over her chest, "the last time you used that tone you admitted to me that you'd nearly cut yourself with your own razor - on purpose." Adam sighed, not in the mood to argue.

"This is different." he stated flatly. "You wouldn't understand it," Amata huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"You think I understood the last time either?" his friend said argumentatively, "So try me, why don't you?" Adam looked her up and down, and for a moment he considered dumping all his baggage, but then shook his head.

"No." he said. Amata glared at him with watery eyes.

"I want to help you!" she shouted in a high-strung voice. Her eyes found the stitches that ran down Adam's right cheek, and she reached to hold his hand. he jerked his back.

"Are they the reason?" she asked softly, eyes beginning to sparkle again. Adam was silent for several moments, trying to quell the parts of him that were reliving his foray into post-war Pittsburg. He swung his head from side-to-side again. Amata reached out, more forceful this time, and grasped Adam's right hand. She squeezed it hard.

"You can talk to me," she said, and then Adam de-entwined his fingers from his friend's and took a step back.

"You _can't_ help me." he responded. Amata opened her mouth again, but Adam spoke before she could.

"Look," he said, waving a hand. "I have wounded with me and I need a place to operate." Amata raised a brow, seeing the Wanderer's misdirection. After a moment, she nodded.

"I can clear a space in your dad's clinic," she said, noting that Adam's fists curled lightly at the mention of his father. "but that's besides the point. You clearly need-" she began, but Adam glared.

"I already told you: you can't help me," he said in a steely voice. "I'm tired, and carrying a fully-grown man here wasn't easy." Amata felt a small amount of foreboding in Adam's tone, and he'd turned away before she could speak up.

"Thanks," he said, that same steely tone in his voice. "I'll take him to the clinic." Amata noted that he didn't say 'My father's' or 'My dad's' and was reaching out to grab his shoulder when he pressed the button on the door. It slid upward pneumatically, and closed swiftly afterward. Amata stood there for a moment, arm outstretched in the air, hand grasping at nothing.

That was how she'd reflect on that interaction later in life, as well. When she got to close, Adam slipped away, dodged questions, and left her grasping at nothing. Slowly, her arm came back to her side, and she blinked away the water in her eyes. Forlornly, she murmured to herself.

"What happened to you?"

* * *

 **This took longer than expected. Sorry.**

 **I kinda-sorta made an Ao3 account and was volunteering at a summer camp for two weeks. I had a week's break between them but teaching eight and ten year-olds how to properly use a fencing foil with any modicum of skill is tiring. Enjoyable, but tiring. And I made the mistake of starting another story, too. It's on my Ao3 if you're at all interested (the name is Raging_Celiac).**

 **Still, I hope this chapter lived up to whatever expectation you had. The next will hopefully be out soon. - Raging Celiac**


	3. Chapter 3

**Leaving Mr.** Brotch's office, Adam let out a long, tired sigh, grimacing when he saw that a crowd had developed outside.

At the front of the crowd was Butch, who looked as if someone had threatened his cache of hair gel, with Wally and Paul flanking him on either side, their faces contorted in expressions of focus on the doorway to Mr. Brotch's classroom. Behind them stood a crowd that Adam counted to be around two dozen people, all of which were looking at Adam as if he'd risen from the grave. Butch held his switch knife tightly, and Adam was surprised to see Wally carrying an identical weapon, too. Paul cradled a worn-looking baseball bat in his arms halfheartedly.

"Well?" asked Butch, whose gritty grimace was marred by the smattering of pink that still tinted his cheeks. Adam, who had his goggles off, narrowed his eyes.

"Shove off," he said in an I-don't-have-time-for-you tone, taking curt, purposeful a step in the tunnel snake's direction. Butch blinked at the steely undertone in it, and his eyes drifted to the stitches that ran down Adam's right cheek. It was then that he realized that Adam's face was also gaunter, his frame leaner than it had been. He also noted with some alarm that a metal tube that looked conspicuously like a gun barrel was poking over Adam's left shoulder. Adam got a few paces closer.

"H-hey man," stuttered Butch, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture, dropping his switchblade. "I didn't mean any trouble. I was just won-"

"-dering about something that's none of your business? Yes, yes you were." Adam cut in. His eyes had narrowed even more, and the no-nonsense attitude, Butch thought, should never had been there; Adam was supposed to be the shy loner kid. The doctor's son, whose only close friend he was hopelessly in the friendzone with. He was _not_ supposed to be this commanding. Adam took another step closer to Butch, and Paul looked at him as if he were a car whose engine was about to explode. Wally looked surprised, and he dropped his switchblade. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and Adam's eyes flicked over to it when it fell, but Wally didn't dare pick it up. The crowd was tensed; they expected a brawl. And, most of them reasoned, Butch, Wally, and Paul lying on the floor in a pile again.

"If you want to be helpful," Adam told Butch, "Clear a space in the clinic. I've got wounded."

"S-sure thing, man," Butch said in a rattled tone. "Whatever you need. Who is it?" There was beat, this time with Adam sighing, affixing his goggles over his eyes and breathing mask over his mouth.

"Officer Taylor," he answered coolly, voice sounding strangely muffled by his breathing mask, and then pushed past Butch. The crowd parted for him, collective eyes wide as Butch took a moment to regain his balance, flailing his arms slightly, blood rushing to his face. Wally simply stood there for another second, and as Adam left the crowd, he snapped out of his daze. Awkwardly, and with his face rapidly reddening, Wally collected his switchblade and approached Butch's shoulder.

"What're we gonna do?" he asked, and Butch was silent for a few moments, frowning in thought. Paul looked like he'd give anything to fade into the walls at that moment.

"Well, what we promised, right?" said Butch, though there was a note of unease in his voice.

"C'mon, let's clear a space for Old man Taylor."

* * *

Adam had no need to push through the crowd. He didn't even have to make any threatening gestures to get people to move aside. The vault dwellers in the crowd did that for him with what was to Adam ironic fear. Ironic because he had been the one doing that for nearly all his life in Vault 101; it was the irony that stung the most for him, because he counted those days as his luckiest ones. He had been safe then. Secure. Blissfully ignorant. Then, well…

Adam quashed the memories that threatened to rise.

He got to Officer Taylor's wizened form and his blood ran cold. He was speaking. Speech meant that he was alive. But what he said made Adam swear in colors he never would have even a month before.

"I can't see… can't see…" Taylor was murmuring in a quiet voice, his eyes directed to the ceiling of the hall, where their glazed-ness was obvious. Unfocused, they seemed to have an interest in the ceiling lights. Adam shook his head, worry barely managing to flick across his face before fading promptly. With a grunt, the wanderer lifted Taylor up, feeling pain shoot through his arms as he did so. He frowned and forced himself to carry Taylor frieman style again, his steps slow and purposeful. He trudged down the hallway, his face soon wearing a set of bared teeth rather than a frown. He turned the corner and glared lightly at the ground, before breathing out through his nose slowly. This wasn't that difficult, right?

As Adam soon learned, it _was_ that difficult, and yet he was not the boy who would've called for help for this (He heavily doubted much would come to him, anyway), so he ground his teeth harder, furrowed his brow more grittily, and began to climb the staircase that lead to his father's clinic. Each step grated down his endurance more and more, but the Wanderer simply shook his head and ascended despite. Within five minutes, he'd reached the middle of the staircase, feeling sweat beginning to roll down his face; the beads made their way down his breathing mask, and a few slid down the air filters on the sides. Mentally muttering about how he'd have to dry them, Adam reached the top of the staircase.

The crowd wasn't there.

Nobody was, in fact. The hall was empty, with the clinic's windows having been covered by midnight-black sheets again. The lights still flickered their cracks obvious. The silence there was still tense , and Adam began to struggle his way to his father's clinic. His muscles - almost everything, really - felt like lead, but he knew he couldn't stop. _It's just like DC,_ he thought to himself, _Just keep moving_. The Wanderer focused on the door to the clinic, making a slow pace toward them; then the door to Mr. Brotch's classroom opened. Adam's eyes swiveled toward the door, feeling his blood drop a degree. Amata stood there, looking shaken, a hand squeezing her forearm and a miserable expression on her face. Her eyes went from the ground to Adam and very quickly and conspicuously she removed her hand from her forearm, shaking her head.

She raised an eyebrow, her miserableness dashed for a contemplative frown shockingly fast to Adam. Her eyes flickered across Taylor's expression, and seeing his eyes, she bit her lip.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked worriedly, and the Wanderer raised an eyebrow. He bit his lower lip behind his mask.

"I smacked him over the head with a pistol," he responded dryly, sounding more wheezy than he'd've liked, "and he's in his sixties. I don't think he's gonna make it." Amata stared at Adam, bewhildered by how easily; how factually he'd just predicted that Old Man Taylor - nice, brittle, wizened Old Man Taylor - was going to die. Compounding the numbness that was quickly spreading through her was that Adam had also admitted that he'd been the one to do it so readily. So… blandly.

"You've got to be kidding me." Amata said. The Wanderer looked at her with veiled non-surprise.

"I don't kidd about that kind of stuff, Amata," And to that the overseer's daughter shook her head furiously.

"Y-you can't just-" she began, but Adam, with considerable difficulty and a low grunt, raised a hand.

"I already have and it was in self-defense. There's no point in complaining, Amata," Adam grunted strained-ly, and took a long breath in. "And this isn't easy to do." Amata, for several moments, bit her lip so hard it nearly bled; she wanted to fight this - everything about this. From Adam killing a person, to that person being an old man, to the fact that Adam was carrying a grown man whilst simultaneously talking to her. This wasn't her friend. This couldn't be; Adam didn't hurt other people. He didn't walk around with a rifle strapped to his back. He didn't hide his face. And yet here he was, with unexplained stitches, a dying man on his back. Amata blinked hard, taking a steadying breath.

"Fine. Go."

* * *

Adam gave Amata a slightly sad look as he nodded. There was something about the way he did it that unnerved the latter; it was tired, certainly, but not in the exhaustedly thankful way. In the aged way - the subtle way the vault's older residents had when this had started. Like they had been half-expecting it. Like they'd been right and wished they weren't. Amata watched the Wanderer enter the clinic, could hear his labored breaths through the filters of his breathing mask. Her eyes drifted to the beaten-up butt of the rifle he was carrying, and made out small markings on it; she counted at least three dozen, and felt sicker from the question it inevitably raised.

How many others had he killed? How many other people - _human beings_ \- had he offed with that thing? Her stomach did a small somersault, and she felt like her lunch was in sudden, rapid jeopardy of being vomited (Which she was surprised she hadn't done anyway, as it had been two-week-old instamash that the other rebels had spent the better part of an hour removing mold from). The thought of Adam killing Old Man Taylor she knew was really, _really_ upsetting to her on principle, but the thought that he'd killed more people was even worse. Adam wasn't supposed to harm a radroach, in her mind.

"Yo, Amata, you look like you've seen a ghost." blinking rapidly, Amata snapped back into focus; Butch was standing there, Susie beside him, looking over her concernedly. Butch looked slightly shaken, a fact reinforced by one of his ever-gelled hairs being out of place. Susie's own orange locks were ruffled from weeks spent without proper care, but she didn't seem to mind. She stepped forward and tilted her head to the side.

"It was Adam, wasn't it?" Amata looked away for a moment, but nodded. Susie's lip quivered with sympathy.

"He's really creepy now," she said in a soothing tone, and Butch nodded darkly.

"Frickin' scary is what he is," he muttered under his breath. Surprise filtered into Amata's expression; out of everyone, she most expected Butch to brush this new Adam off as a facade… but the look in his eyes was clear. He took this new Adam more seriously than he did his hair gel. It wasn't that surprising, a part of Aata posited, seeing as how the Wanderer had sweeped him easily and threatened his life without batting an eyelash.

"You didn't hear him, did you?" Susie asked, and Amata swiveled narrowed eyes to her.

"No…" Susie sighed.

"After he'd beat up Wally, Paul, and Butch, he took out his gun and said 'Anybody makes a move, and they go.'" Amata should've cracked a smile at how comically Susie deepened her voice to mimic Adam's, but the tone her friend had used was too flat. Too matter-of-fact.

"He didn't actually sound like that, did he?" she said in a quiet voice.

"This isn't a time for jokes," Susie deadpanned.

"That wasn't what I was talking about."

Amata's words hung for a moment in which Butch, with an uncharacteristic note of nervousness in his voice, said,

"I need to go to the bathroom," and speed walked his way to Mr. Brotch's classroom and entered. Susie shook her head.

"He was so… factual, I guess." her eyes briefly flicked over to the door to the clinic before settling back on her friend. "He didn't, like, hesitate at all. He just… pointed it at them and did." Amata slowly let out a breath.

"How's Taylor doing?" she asked a small bit of hope in her voice. Susie's eyes focused on a spot where the paint was peeling slightly. Amata rubbed her temples. Why couldn't today have just been easy? Just been an average day in her rebellion? The young woman scowled akin to someone about to scale a castle wall.

"I'm going to check on him."

* * *

 **…**

 **The wait time on this was unacceptable. I'm sorry.**

 **For whatever it's worth, I want to finish this at some point. I have way too many projects going on right now and I need to focus. When the next chapter will come out, I'm not sure, but I promise it won't be after November. And to answer Alexeij's question, this is after** _ **The Whole, Sad Story**_ **. I should've answered that earlier.**

 **I hope this was up to my standard, and if it wasn't, I apologize. Still, any follows/favs/reviews would be appreciated. 'Till next time. - Raging Celiac**


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